Sunday, 23 December 2012

Reply to School Reunion Invitation

** This fucking thing isn't real. Apparently some daft twats have read it and assumed I not only sent this letter to my old Headmaster but actually posted his real address on a blog containing threats to kill. Try putting "Kenilton" into a Sat Nav.So if you're sitting comfortably. This is a FICTIONALISED reply to a FICTIONAL letter inviting me to a FICTIONAL high school reunion.**

Bernard Johnson- PhD

45 Millington Avenue

Kenilton

Shropshire

SH4 9LX

22nd
December 2012

Dear Mr Johnson,

Thank you for your kind invitation to the class of 1987
school reunion planned for next May. I will however be unable to come for the
following reasons:

1). Since about 2004 I have had counselling about the 4
years I was at your school. This is in no small part due to your sterling lack
of efforts over the continual bullying I experienced while a pupil there. As
Headmaster you were in a position to stop this from happening but you did
nothing. You also had several well-worn catchphrases to avoid dealing with the
situations I found myself in. Your best ones were “six of one, half a dozen
of another”, “it’s always you isn’t it Manley?” and “funny how it’s
always you they pick on isn’t it?”

2). Even though I’m now in my 40s I am a regular user of a
lovely thing called Propranolol, an anxiety suppressant. The first time I ever
had an anxiety attack was at the age of 14 in Chemistry class when David Yard,
Jason Fair and Darren Paul destroyed an engraved pen I’d been given as a
present by my grandfather (they took it apart, pulled the spring out of
alignment, snapped the nib and then handed it back to me laughing). They also
took it in turns to punch me on my left arm as hard as they could, resulting in
it looking like a butcher had been at it with a steak tenderiser. When I told
the class teacher about this, he did nothing except wait for me to break school
rules a few lessons later (I talked while he was talking) and then triumphantly
shouted “complaining about being picked on, eh Manley?!! Not surprised if
THAT’S how you behave!!!”

3). Being on school premises again would probably induce
nausea, panic attacks and possibly fainting. Specific areas of the school are
hot beds of nightmare in my mind. Not least of all the cycle sheds (they face
the classroom on level 1 that the bullies used to lean out the window of before
the 9am bell) where I was subjected daily to whooping screeching and shouts of “OI,
FUCKING QUEER!” or my personal favourite “YOU’VE GOT A TINY COCK YOU
TWAT!!!”

4). There is a possibility that my former PE teacher Mr
Jacobs will be there, or my English teacher Mrs Robertson, or my Physics
teacher Mr Miles. Jacobs was a fat, miserable bully who used to pick up boys by
their sideburns, throw books in 12 year old boys’ faces and once made a lad cry
by repeatedly poking him in the throat while telling him off. Mrs Robertson was
a spiteful cow who used to lie to get pupils into trouble, her favourite being
to say she’d seen someone spit out of a window. Finally Mr Miles used to make
us all stand up when he came in the room and was a vicious, sour faced cunt. If
I see any of these 3 again I’m likely to freak out and at the very least would
need to be kept away from anything sharp and/or heavy if in visual range of
them.

5). Up until the age of about 31, I used to masturbate while
thinking about murdering you, your staff and about 50% of the pupils at the
school. This fantasy was elaborate and well planned in my head. It included
what type of weapons I would use (flamethrower was the mainstay, pump action
shotgun a close second) and the 3 lists I had in my head. These were SITH
(Shoot In The Head), KF (kneecap first), and LL (Let Live). You were a KF, as
was your fat bitch of a wife that we saw occasionally on Summer and Xmas fetes.
Only two teachers were on LL; Mr Robson, who taught English. A finer man you
could never meet. I saw him again recently and we had a long chat over a coffee
that I paid for; and Mr Surtain who taught Maths. A lovely gent and a good
laugh. Never patronising. A LOT of teachers were SITHS mind you. I just
couldn’t be bothered torturing them first.

6). My memories of your school are nothing except miserable,
unhappy and fuelled by the kind of rage that might make the Hulk shrink back
into the Gamma radiation lab. I hated every second I was there, I prayed that
someone would take me out of there nearly every day. They didn’t.

So once again. Thank you for your very kind offer of
attending the class of 1987 reunion, but I must politely decline.

I wish you well on this reunion and would like to make it
clear that if you ever contact me again I’ll make such a mess of your face that
they’ll have to identify you from your fingerprints.

3 comments:

Read it again and ask yourself if that is really what you intended to post, especially after what happened at a school in the US recently.

I read "Scarecrows" and felt sympathy at your experience in being bullied out of the Job - something similar happened to a friend of mine a long time ago but she just picked herself up, got on with her life - and rejoined the Specials, where she was soon promoted because her experience as a probie was invaluable.

Ok, I used the word "post" which was intended to mean "putting your thoughts on a blog". I didn't think that even you would be idiot enough to send such a letter, but if that leads you to think I'm a daft twat then please yourself. I won't lose sleep over it, but I am beginning to realise why your police career came to an end. Your fantasies are just a little bit too weird.